Golf, God, and Aunt Velma: A Hogsmeade Adventure
by Ninamazing
Summary: PG for a swear word or two. Inspiration credits to Honoria Glossop's fanfic challenge site -- link in author's note -- which I *STRONGLY* urge you all to visit. Be forewarned, this is NOTHING like any other fic I've done before! Enjoy!


Golf and Aunt Velma: A Hogsmeade Adventure

**Author's Note: And now for something completely different .. *grin*I was inspired for this by [Honoria's Fanfic Challenge][1] website, which I *strongly* urge you to go to, my friends.And enjoy the fic -- be warned, it's not like anything I've *ever* done before!.. oh, and by the by, I detest golf.Don't ever get the idea that I play it while reading this fic.^_^**

"Doesn't that look like a sailboat?"

"Give it up, Frankie, you need a life."

"I have a life.Golfing."

"Life is a little MORE than a hole in one, Frankie!"

"I told you.Stop calling me Frankie, for the sake of St. Andrews!"

"Don't swear by a golf course.It's blasphemy."

"Or something.First of all, _I am an atheist._I believe in my golf clubs.I believe in my golf balls.I believe in St. Andrews.And I believe in me.Second of all, my name is not Frankie.My name is The Golfer.Third of all, it's the best golf course in the world.I'm allowed to swear by that."

"Sure, and God doesn't mind."

"Of course God doesn't mind.If you don't exist, it's hard to mind things very much."

"And by the way, don't you believe in Fred Astaire too?"

"And Rita Hayworth.You'll Never Get Rich."The Golfer sighed happily, chewing his fingernails, as usual.

"You Were Never Lovelier.I know."

"Best movies in the world."He always chewed them the same way, too.Right thumb, left middle, right pinkie, left pinkie, right middle.The rest never got gnawed.It was a strange and thought-provoking process, but Sandra and the Golfer didn't mind.When they weren't restoring the security charms on Zonko's Joke Shop, Gladrags Wizardwear, Honeydukes Sweets, the Three Broomsticks, and just about every other building in Hogsmeade -- except for the Post Office; the Ministry of Magic was too proud to let mere village people protect _their_ outfit -- they were cloud-watching.Or movie-watching in their trailer; Sandra swore that the Golfer had just about every Fred Astaire movie ever made.It was a strange and wondrous thing, their life.

You can decide whether it was thought-provoking or not.

"I still say that's not a sailboat."

"What else could it be?"

"It's nearly out of our line of vision now.You can't defend yourself anymore."

"Well, Mrs. Smarty-pants, what was it, then, if it wasn't a sailboat?A motorboat?A tugboat?A barge?"

"A train."

"A _train?_"

"The TGV, to be exact.The Bullet Train.You know?"

"France, Japan, what's the difference?"

"Don't be snide with me, Frankie."

"The Golfer."

"Frankie."

"The Golfer."

"Frankie."

"Frankie."

"The Golf -- aaaaah, I _hate_ it when you do that!"

The Golfer grinned triumphantly, although Sandra couldn't see.She was looking at the clouds."Heehee, it got you though, didn't it?"

"You _always_ get me.Ergo I _always_ feel stupid."

"When's the Hogwarts school group coming?"

"Next week."

"You know, maybe I should go into tennis.The British Open is played there so often, I could go for that _and_ golf."

"Where?"

"Where what?"

"Where is the British Open played a lot?!"

"St Andrews, naturally!"

"Oh.Right."

"That's why I should go into tennis.See the logic there, Sandra?"

"The wizards would lynch you.No Quidditch enthusiasm.It's disgraceful."

"Well, they can't pick the sports I'm interested in, can they!Didn't even find out I was a wizard until I was thirty and Marie Haverford found me out.Ministry official, you know.Damn American system tries to suppress magic on that side of the ocean -- isn't it funny that _we_ have a history of witch burning? -- and Marie --"

"I know the story.Why are you telling me?"

"AND MARIE," the Golfer continued loudly, drowning out Sandra's protests, "gave me a tennis racket on May 12th and led me to England, where I discovered my home, Hogsmeade, and learned wizardry from Remus J. Lupin.Tutored me, you know."

"Jolly old chap, as we say in Britain," Sandra continued, reciting the Golfer's speech from memory."And so every year on May 12th, I consider --"

"-- tennis lessons," he went on, sitting up and giving her a dark look."And I still say it was a sailboat."

"Train."

"Sailboat."

"Train."

"Sailboat."

"Train."

"Excuse me, do you know where they're going to put the new branch of Gringotts Bank up here?"

Sandra sat up quickly, embarrassed to be found cloud-watching with a fairly bald, blue-eyed, crazy American golfer.The Golfer leaned back on his palms and scrutinized the boy.

"Hello, Harry," he addressed the poor child, widening his eyes and speaking in a raspy voice.He liked to do this around people he had never met before, to see their reaction.

Harry instinctively put his hand on his forehead to the very prominent lightning scar, as a tall, gangly, red-haired boy and a girl with bushy brown hair raced up behind him, panting.

"Good grief, Harry, you nearly left us behind," the girl scolded, shooting him a disapproving glower.

"My name is Mr.Undertaker," announced the Golfer, using the same bone-chilling tone.The redhead exchanged a glance and a raised eyebrow with Harry Potter, while the girl simply stood looking skeptical.

"Nice to meet you," she said quickly, not bothering to hold out a hand to the Golfer, as he was sitting meditation-style on the grass.

"You interrupted me cloud-watching," he informed them, rolling his r's.Sandra turned her eyes skyward and clasped her hands in a gesture of supplication, petitioning God.

"Why do you want to know where Gringotts Bank is?" the Golfer inquired testily."Planning to rob it, are you?"To finish it off he turned to Sandra, who was still beseeching the Deity, and muttered, "Stupid kids."By now all three of them looked uncertain, although the redhead took the cake for looking the most weirded-out.

"Harry, let's go ask somewhere else," the girl suggested, in a tone that clearly expressed: _We _are _asking somewhere else, and you _are_ going to follow me right now._She turned, and gestured harshly to the two boys._Come here _now_!_

"Er.Right," Harry quipped.To tell you the truth, he was rather interested in these two apparently Buddhist trailer park inhabitants.Sandra was praying, obviously, and the Golfer had been meditating.Oughtn't he to ask them about the Wheel of Life, or how it felt to be inside a monastery?

"Gautama knew all," the Golfer noted, in his raspy voice again."He alone achieved enlightenment."

"Nirvana," whispered the girl.

"What?" the red-haired boy called over.

"You wouldn't understand," she answered in a low voice.He didn't realize that he had narrowly escaped being ignored altogether, and consequently was not very greatful for her response.

"Try me, why don't you, 'Er-my-knee?" he yelled, annoyed.

Luckily, before she could answer him, the Golfer stood up."Gringotts Bank has already established a chapter here," he told them in his normal voice."It's that way, near Zonko's."He pointed.They stared, but not at his finger.

Sandra's eyes opened, and she shook her head at the Golfer.As the trio headed off towards the horizon, she stood up and shook her head again."You really should stop that Buddhist act," she advised."I think it actually does scare them."

"That, my dear, is the point," he answered, pretending to be mesmerized by the glory of another cloud."And _that_ is a sailboat."

Sandra gave up, and she listened to the three children's voices fade away as the Golfer examined the sky.

"So what should I name my new owl, 'Er-my-knee?"

"Velma," said Harry suddenly.

"Hey, I had an aunt named Velma once."

"What happened to her?"

"I think she's spending a few years at St.Mungo's.Something about an Engorgement Charm gone very, very wrong . . ."

   [1]: http://www.geocities.com/harrypotterchallengefic/



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